


Shrapnel

by Armoured_Swampert



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: War for Cybertron
Genre: Aligned continuity versions of preexisting characters, Gen, fem!evac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 21:53:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2667662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armoured_Swampert/pseuds/Armoured_Swampert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Red Alert finds that  heavy plating is no defense from emotional trauma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shrapnel

   Red Alert picked his way over the dead, his steps almost comical and mincing. Recovery crews would be there soon, to siphon what little precious energon remained in the corpses. Cybertronians fought wars like that.

  A lone white and blue figure, barely illuminated by the murky sunlight seeping through the smog, he dropped down onto the corpse of a Decepticon seeker. The hapless air warrior had been shot mid-transformation. Red averted his eyes. An ugly sight.

   Wind blew from the south, the dying remnant of the Devastator Gales blowing from the Sonic Canyons. It ruffled his mesh longcoat, a bulletproof sheaf that mantled from his hips. Red sighed and reached to his head to open his comms and call for a lift out. He was met with static. Red cursed. He had forgotten the damn encryption code again. He scrabbled with one of the compartments in his arm, his eyes lighting up in triumph as he found a pull-out scanner with the encryption code laser-burned into the corner. Just as he began to input the string of numbers, he heard a groan.

    Wheeling, he searched for the source of the noise. Red clipped down his v-shaped medical visor (the ruby-quartz piece normally slipped down with a thought, but the microengines controlling it had slowed) and scanned for life-signs. With mounting horror, he realised that it came from the corpse he had been standing on.

   He leapt off the ailing warrior, yelping “Sorry! Sorry sorry!” as he did so. The solider looked up at him with unimpressed cyan eyes.

   On a good day, a parade day, she must have been a metallic marvel. Gold and navy plating would have met to create a tall, wide-shouldered form, rising two, perhaps three heads above the medic. Trunk-like arms now lay limp on the field of the dead. A palm-light was visible in one hand, its screen cracked but otherwise glowing that same cyan. A large rotor was attached near the wrist, battered yet folded. By the other am, a large sword of similar size to the rotor rested its edge .

   The warrior’s head was like that of a crown, three spires rising from the forehead and sides. A protective block covered the olfactory sensors. Her whole body (because Red could now see that this _was_ a her) was scuffed and dirtied with energon and muck. Overall, nothing the CR chamber couldn’t fix, but the dirt could hide more serious wounds. She slowly propped herself up on her elbos and looked at Red Alert.

          “So,” she said in a slow contralto, “I’m not dead.” Red kneeled down beside her, summoning what little bedside manner he had.

          “I’ll be the judge of that, missus,” he declared matter-of-factly “You lie back down, alright? Could move something that doesn’t want to be.” She did as she was told. Red’s fingers unfolded at the tip into a gaggle of surgical instruments, eager to learn the patient’s ailments. A surgical mask slid on reflexively. The patient looked at the medic.

          “Check my left side. I think a shell got me.” Red sidled down to get a look at a medium-sized gash stained with energon. “Be careful, I feel something in there and it might be the unexploded shell.” Red Alert leaned closer.

          “Nnnno, I don’t think so. Looks like some plating got dislodged and fell into your body cavity.” He leaned back. “Well, you’ll need some time in the ol’ CR anyways. Come on, get up, I’ll call you a medevac.”

          The patient shifted slightly. “What happened to not moving?” His instruments and mask retracted, Red Alert pulled up his visor and looked at her.

          “Because that hole didn’t strike anything major, and self-repair has done most of the heavy stuff. But I reckon you knew that already, didn’t you?” She shifted to avoid his gaze, a mighty thing brought low.

          “I… I was hoping to be finished off here.” Red Alert sat down beside her.

          “Hmm. And why was that?” He gestured at the ring of Decepticon corpses around them. “I can see the sword wounds. These guys were all you.”

          “It’s a long story.”

          “I got time.”

          “There’s worse off than me here, probably.”

          “There are other medics, and you’re only fine on the outside, I reckon. What’s your name, missus?”

          She looked at him. “Evac. It’s Evac.” Red stretched a hand out.

          “Nice to meet you, Evac. The name’s Red Alert.” Evac stared at the hand for a moment before taking it, a massive fist enclosing his slim fingers. He took the opportunity to pull her up. As expected, Evac rose above him by two heads. Back-mounted cannons reflexively swung up. She reached down to grab her sword, which split down the middle and overlapped, becoming a rotor which magnetically returned to its resting place on her arm.

          Evac cracked her neck, feeling the joints clicking into place. Red turned around and quickly spouted some coordinates and medical codes into his comms.

          “Right then, medevac is coming, should be here shortly. While we’re here, might as well have a little chat.” He walked over to her.

          “So, Evac,” he said ever-so-conversationally, “What was their name?”

          She brushed some dust from her face. “Rotorstorm. Their name was Rotorstorm.”

         

         

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone! This is in continuity with my other WFC fic, Out of the Wreckage! Check it out! It's ongoing, if updated never, eheh.


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